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Gracious Gift

by Matthew Bokma

A gracious gift, the fruit of love;
Do accept, twas' from far above.
A seed thou bare, please work the soil;
Hath not farmer's fruits pass the toil?

Mere future speaks, you see my face;
And feel the warmth of joy's embrace.
Pitter-patter, doth slap my feet;
What ear's not twitch from such a beat?

A suckling lamb, a blue birds nest;
I find nourishment, peace, and rest.
In thy womb a soul doth reside;
I live, shall I for'er abide.

To weigh my life, a farthing be;
Yet much more, crowned by Majesty.

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